


The wasp and the bee (Cozytober turned Kinktober)

by depresane



Series: Vissenvaib the Gorion's Blunderer [8]
Category: Baldur's Gate, Forgotten Realms
Genre: ASMR, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Artistic Liberties, Artistic License, Autism, Autism Spectrum, Dark Elves, Erotic Poetry, F/F, Fictional Languages, Hair touching, Half-Elves, Happy, Horniness, Hugs, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Masturbation, LGBTQ Themes, Metaphors, Name Changes, Neck Kissing, Nose Kissing, Oral Sex, Post-Canon, Scissoring, Sexual Metaphors, Surprise Kissing, Tribadism, V has a fro which she controls with a spell; and I managed to reveal that JUST NOW, Writer's Block, Writers, also in the poem, anyway fantasy wives living fantasy lives, drow language, in the poem the Charname writes, let's start with that because BOTH Vissie and Vicky are under different names, nashkel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:35:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27104332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/depresane/pseuds/depresane
Summary: This was supposed to be my entry for the Cozytober challenge from twitter. WELP.Cottagecore is out of question for them because they need shops and audience for the heroine's poems. Too bad the heroine is struggling with art block AND horny days. Okay, "struggling" is not the correct verb here. ;]Remember Vissenvaib? She's Vĭedźdaž in this fic.Viconia is Verkorir, just like in other works of mine.
Relationships: Female Charname/Viconia DeVir
Series: Vissenvaib the Gorion's Blunderer [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/885123
Kudos: 2





	The wasp and the bee (Cozytober turned Kinktober)

Before Vĭedźdaž began, she felt her smooth, fresh locks of hair between her fingers, twisting and pulling them with carefully measured and comfortable force. She spent minutes on the stimulating habit, gazing at her equipment on the desk.  
"Do I write a song or just a poem?" she wondered.  
The outskirts of Nashkel seemed to be layered with golden and copper coins - except they crinkled and crunched under leather boots. Vĭedźdaž leant sideways to take a glance through a window; that could have been Imoen, Ĭad Vinĭa, or even the storekeeper, who has gained quite a fortune by reselling wolf pelts from the heroine.  
No, the crinkling came from Verkorir, who was returning from the town carnival. From the first floor Vĭedźdaž locked her eyes on the dark elf, her green cape, graceful walk, straight white hair, and two bags full of goods purchased.  
As if she could tell she was being watched, Verkorir looked up to meet the half-elf's face and sent her a wink. She responded with an air smooch.

Verkorir left the goods on the ground floor and climbed the stairs to swagger into the room and stand behind Vĭedźdaž.  
"Lacking inspiration?"  
"Indeed. Thoughts are escaping me. Maybe I'll do an exercise instead; try out a couple of techniques."  
The Ilythiiri hummed. "My fingers could use some exercise, too."  
She giggled. "Of what kind?"  
"Lift your spell. The one on your head."  
With a twirl of her wrist, Vĭedźdaž removed the spell, and her wavy hair curled intensely, taking their natural, cloud-like shape. Verkorir sank her hands in the sphere and rested her cheek on it. They both smiled. The art-blocked writer could feel pleasant shivers on her head, neck, and upper back, as the drow's fingers were exploring the fluffy puff.  
"Got you in a good mood, I see," commented Verkorir, for Vĭedźdaž allowed her to touch her hair only from time to time.  
"Maybe it'll help me," she replied.  
"Mhm." She continued on both sides, around her ears, paying attention to her rings lest they pulled the hair with a sharp pain.  
Vĭedźdaž relaxed her shoulders. Her left ear twitched, flapping like a wing.  
"Tell me when you have enough."  
"Uh... go lower?"  
She laughed through her throat but did move her hands closer to the half-elf's nape. Having scratched it gently, she kissed it, sending one more wave of shivers.  
"Whoa, yup, enough."  
Verkorir took a step back, releasing the sorceress from her black caress. "Good luck with your piece, zhaunil," she said before leaving the room.  
Vĭedźdaž recast the hair spell, stretched her back, and stared at her desk again. Her refreshed mind suggested effortlessly:  
"You take off crotala from your feet."  
A metaphor, for a certain pair of Verkorir's shoes would click and clap against the floor like those instruments.  
She tossed, fixing her sitting position, then picked a pen and wrote the line.  
What now?  
She shook the pen, waving its white-and-grey feather.  
"Obsidian columns support the ceiling... Ey, that's obscene." She scolded herself with a single "tsk." "No no, wait, fine, obsidian columns support what? Or maybe pillars? Nah, don't think of her legs; think of..."  
She closed her eyes for a moment.  
"Obsidian pillars support the starry sky, where two planets of a poppy hue foretell a tide."  
She clicked her tongue again. "It's not planets, silly; the moon dictates tides. Ah, who cares." She updated her draft. "Milk flows in waterfalls as you descend to the pillows of my being. ... Getting vulgar." She sighed. "I guess it comes easy to me this tenday. Let's go." She wrote down. "You reach for my halo; I reach for your stars. My palms disappear in the cosmos. You whisper a whisper of trembling leaves: I seek orchids. We laugh. A stranger would think of the roots, but no stranger has or will have touched my halo."  
At that point Vĭedźdaž immediately wrote whatever she thought.  
"I speak back: I am a garden, behold my orchid; do not rip it for yourself. The planets fall, the milk splashes in the wind, the sky breathes into the pillows. You may be a wasp but you kiss like a bee when you drink from the orchid. I whisper a whisper of a sunlit river: May your sky and my garden be one. You speak back: They already are. And black clouds, previously invisible to me, open like curtains. I stare in awe as your heavenly orchid descends to the pillows of my being. And the tide flows, making us one."  
She had to stop writing because her muse morphed into a need. She asked aloud, "Luba, are you busy?"  
"Yes."  
"O keĭ." She stood up and skipped into the bedroom.

When she sat behind the desk one more time, she read her erotica with a grin on her face. "Alright, but how do I end it?" She pressed her index finger on her lips. "I could make a lyrical frame with the crotala. Something like... The planets rise, the milk retreats; the sky tires not after a single tide. Your giggle echoes around me. You intend to celebrate my joyful exhaustion with a dance. My ears can only flutter as you put the crotala on your feet." She nodded and concluded the poem.  
Verkorir entered the room. "You requested my presence."  
"Ah, that's already done. But so is my poem. Definitely not for a public release."  
"Why not?"  
"It's about our second time."  
The Ilythiiri smirked. "The Beregost public would endorse that topic." She walked closer and read the work, leaning above the half-elf's left shoulder. She cleared her throat. "Streeaka qu'lith," _Fearless blood_.  
Vĭedźdaž returned the smirk. "Streeaka? Waela, usstan talinth." _Fearless? Foolish, I think_.  
Verkorir lowered her head, resting her cheek like before. Her eyes blinked slowly. "Dosst ssinssrigg zhah natha belaern." _Your lust is a treasure_.  
The sorceress couldn't close her mouth, smiling as broadly as her muscles allowed her to.  
The dark elf left her partner's shoulder to kiss her nose. "Lueth dosst khaless zhah orthae." _And your trust is sacred_.  
Vĭedźdaž was out of words. She hugged Verkorir, who in turn encouraged her to hold her waist.  
"My lovely bee got so excited when writing, didn't she?"  
"Oomm," she managed to articulate.  
"I figured. Would you like more?"  
She laughed into Verkorir's chest. "Mzild."


End file.
